


These Gifts of Love

by BlueShell



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A bit sappy, BokuAka Week, Day 01: Birthday, M/M, but oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 17:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8761579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueShell/pseuds/BlueShell
Summary: Keiji's birthday presents throughout the day.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title: These Gifts of Love  
> Author/Authors: athousandblueshells.tumblr.com  
> Day/Prompt: Day 01: Birthday  
> Rating: G  
> Warnings: None.  
> Side Pairings: None.  
> Summary: Keiji's birthday presents throughout the day.
> 
> God, doing things on mobile suuuuuuucks.

Keiji wakes up with the sharp alarm of his phone, the ceiling golden-yellow against the early morning colors. His first yawn of the day is grumpy as usual; he closes his eyes and wishes he could go back to sleep.

* * *

His mom is in the kitchen, and she smiles that same tender smile when he emerges out of the hallway, already dressed in his school uniform. Today there’s a little excitement around her eyes when she kisses him in the forehead.

“Happy birthday, love,” she says, and he tries his best to smile, still feeling like a sleep-deprived monster.

She gives him a box wrapped in shiny silver paper. He knows he’s going to find new kneepads — has found them hidden under the counter when he was cleaning the bathroom two weeks before — but it doesn’t stop the satisfaction from spreading through his chest.

“Thank you,” he says, and the smile that follows is a lot more genuine.

They eat breakfast silently, and Keiji feels a lot more like himself with each gulp of coffee he takes. He looks up from his plate to see his mother observing him with fondness; he blinks and looks away, a little embarrassed.

“Are you sure you don’t want cake for breakfast, Kei-chan?” She still likes to call him that; sometimes he thinks he should ask her to stop, but he doesn’t quite have the heart to.

“It’s not healthy.”

She snickers. “Today is your birthday, you know. You can go wild one day of the year.”

He takes another gulp of coffee. “Let’s just eat it together after dinner.”

She nods like she already knew he would say that.

They finish breakfast, and Keiji does the dishes quickly while his mom gets their lunches ready; they pack their things, clothes and shoes, and he holds the door for her, locks it with his key.

“I hope you have a wonderful day, love,” she says, wrapping him in a warm hug, one that seems to seep through his jacket to light something from within.

“I hope you have a wonderful day too, mom,” he replies, and turns to leave, pretending not to notice she is still watching him as he makes his way down the street.

* * *

“ _Akaashiiii!_ ” Bokuto-san announces his presence from about fifty meters away, shouting his name as he runs to reach his kouhai in front of the school gates. “Good morning, Akaashi!”

“You’re early, Bokuto-san,” Keiji replies with a raised eyebrow. They rarely meet at the front gate, and the other’s complaints about standing in the hallway are a staple of their lunch conversations.

Bokuto-san stops in front of him with a triumphant smile, panting and puffing like he’s run all the way from the bus stop. “Had to be early to see my favorite setter! Happy birthday, Akaashi!”

Keiji is jostled into a hug, pressed against a strong collarbone, then almost as abruptly released; Bokuto-san starts searching his pockets, throwing bits of paper at the nearby trash can. He puts his bag on the ground and starts going through the contents inside, and Keiji sighs as he moves to pick up the notebooks thrown haphazardly around them.

There is a noise of hands brushing against plastic, and then Bokuto-san emerges with something held proudly in his hands. “This’s my gift for you today, Akaashi!”

It’s a packet of Xylitol peach-flavored gum. It’s already half-eaten. “…Thanks, Bokuto-san.”

Well, the fact that Bokuto-san remembers his birthday is amazing by itself.

“I’m a great senpai, aren’t I?” Bokuto-san laughs, clearly in his confident mode.

This afternoon’s practice is going to go well. Keiji can’t help but smile slightly. “Yes, you’re a great senpai. Now let’s go before the bell rings.”

He doesn’t miss the way Bokuto-san brightens, or how the “ _Akaashi—!_ ” that leaves his mouth is touched and quiet. For that – and because it’s his birthday – he decides to indulge himself; he grabs his senpai’s hand and pulls him towards the main building, relishing in the feeling of the calluses underneath his.

* * *

Classes go as they normally do. He tries to chew with as few movements as possible. Kirishima, his standard target for pairwork, wishes him a happy birthday between classes; Kirishima’s friends Sato and Yoshino hear it and follow his example. He thanks them all politely, nodding his head before they go back to their lessons.

The bell strikes for lunch, and the steps of the students resonate in the hallway – walking and running. He moves to throw the gum in the trash, and nods as the class presidents and their clique pass by, all wishing him a happy birthday. The noise of someone running in the hallway gets louder and louder, and he picks up his bento when Bokuto-san makes it to the classroom door.

“Akaa-shiii!!” Bokuto-san screams unnecessarily, the three boxes of his bento held over his shoulder like a sack of bricks. “You’re not going to lunch without me, are you?”

“Of course not, Bokuto-san,” Keiji sighs. He’s left for lunch without Bokuto-san precisely once – when his senpai was twenty minutes late because his homeroom teacher was scolding him – and he’s regretted that ever since, because it means that, as soon as the bell rings, Bokuto-san is throwing himself off his classroom in a mad dash for 2-B’s.  
  
They leave class walking together, only to run into their other teammates at the door: Konoha-san and Komi-san are sweaty and out of breath, like they’ve been trying to match Bokuto-san’s speed; behind them, Shirofuku-san looks like she’s been taking a morning walk.

“Bokuto,” she says with a frown, coming up to Bokuto-san and hitting him in the shoulder, “you gotta tell the guys where you’re going before you sprint!”

Bokuto-san laughs sheepishly, wilting under Konoha-san and Komi-san’s murderous eyes, and Keiji, who is not used to having them as company during lunch, asks: “What’s the occasion?”

Komi-san rolls his eyes. “What do you think? Your birthday, stupid.”

“…Oh.” That… makes sense.

“C’mon, Akaashi!” Bokuto-san says, starts pulling him down the hallway. “I got my mom to make that nanohana no karashiae you like so much.”

Keiji cannot help but be surprised – so Bokuto-san has actually planned for his birthday? “Bokuto-san, you shouldn’t have troubled your mother.”

“You worry too much, Akaashi,” and there it is, one of those easy grins. “It’s my gift for you today!”

“Oi, he’s not the only one, you know,” Konoha-san chimes in. “I made that yuzukoshou I brought last year to the barbecue – I know you liked it.”

“I brought some onigiri!”

“I’m going to buy some yakisoba bread if Bokuto pays me back today~”

Bokuto-san’s “Gahhhh!” has Keiji sighing again – but this time there’s fondness in it.

* * *

 The doors to the gym are open, which is a bit suspicious – he’s the first one to arrive with the key more often than not –, and he can see Suzumeda’s ponytail disappearing as he comes closer. That, along with the fact that Bokuto-san didn’t wait for him when classes ended, gives him an idea of what to expect.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AKAASHI!”

Everything is decorated with golden and white crepe paper, and there’s a table with sweets and sekihan, and a cake on center – cotton cheesecake, and it looks so good Keiji has no idea who could have baked it –, and a makeshift banner with the words “happy birthday Akaashi” written all in hiragana in disjointed calligraphy, and all his teammates and Yamiji-kantoku are all clapping and singing and Keiji can hear his heart beating loudly in his chest.

His eyes burn a little, and he wants to say something – to thank them for their hard work and the thought they put into this – to say they didn’t have to do it – but what escapes his mouth is:

“How did you get Bokuto-san to shut up about it?”

There’s laughter all around, except for Bokuto-san’s indignant comment of “ _Akaashiii!_ Put a little more faith on me!”, and Shirofuku’s devious smile suggests there might have been some blackmail involved, probably.

One by one, they approach to shake his hand, give him a hug – Sarukui-san actually ruffles his hair, who does he think he is – and he opens and closes his mouth, trying to form the words to express that burning in his chest.

“Thank you,” he ends up saying. Judging by their smiles, he thinks they understand.

* * *

Actual practice starts only in the late afternoon, and, instead of their punishing spiking and serving drills, Yamiji-kantoku decides they should try a practice game. The third years and Keiji go against the first and second years, and everyone feels a bit proud of Onaga, who guides his team with ease, and Tanizawa, the first year setter, who's been getting a lot better at adjusting his tosses. They play two games of three sets and are done for the day, the coach’s reasoning being that they should get to have a day off every now and then.

Used as they are to Bokuto-san's late practice sessions, no one bothers trying to take off the net, just waving the setter and wing spiker goodbye as they leave for the lockers. Keiji himself is taking off his blue sports bib, uncovering the navy blue shirt they use for training and adjusting his shoes, when Bokuto-san interrupts him:

“Akaashi, aren't you going home?”

This question is so at odds with his senpai's normal behavior — the way he demands and pleads for more tosses — that Keiji pauses in the act of trying his shoelaces to send Bokuto-san a stunned look.

“…Aren't you going to practice?”

“I am? — I am! But you don't have to stay behind with me, you know! You can go rest if that's what you want!”  
  
“…Who are you and what have you done with the captain.”

Bokuto-san’s expression is shy, uncertain, and the flush on his cheeks is something Keiji rarely gets to see. He shuffles his feet, and doesn't look the setter in the eye as he says: “Well, you know, I — I thought that — since it's your birthday and all — you could leave early if you'd like! Not that you can't leave early if it's not your birthday, you know, but today I thought that… you should go home.” He breaks into a weak smile. “This is my gift for you today!"

One corner of Keiji's mouth lifts on his own. Bokuto-san is selfish sometimes, the way a child can be, but he tries hard to be considerate his own way. Like the feel of those hands underneath his, it's something good to remember.

“Bokuto-san, my mother comes home very late. When I leave early, I wait for her all alone at home.”

“Huh.”

“Besides, I quite enjoy practicing with you. It keeps me sharp, and you're good company.”

The flush on his senpai's cheeks gets stronger. His eyes are wide and hopeful. “So this means…”

“It means it would be a better gift if you stayed behind to practice with me today.”

Bokuto-san shakes his hand in the air, a triumphant smile taking over his face. “Yes! Of course! _That’ll_ be my gift for you today, Akaashi!”

He runs to get the volleyball cart, and Keiji thinks this is one of the best birthdays he's had in years.

* * *

They walk together all the way to the bus stop, Bokuto-san telling some wild story of his elementary school years — “and I have no idea how the cake exploded, Akaashi, it was a giant mess” — and Keiji listening attentively. Bokuto-san’s hands fly everywhere as the tale grows more picturesque, but, when they rest, they brush against Keiji's mitten-covered ones, and the small sparks of contact send ghostly sensations through his whole body. The setter closes his eyes and thinks of a perfect way to end the night — then berates himself for daydreaming about things that will probably never become true.

As they wait for their respective buses, Keiji notices Bokuto-san getting more and more fidgety, moving his bag around like he can't decide how to carry it. The setter is trying to decide whether to ask or not when his bus shows up at the corner of the street; he can see the other boy's teeth lightly grazing his lower lip.

“Bye, Akaashi,” is what Bokuto-san ends up saying, one hand gripping his shoulder. Keiji nods and touches it briefly. It's silly, considering they'll see each other tomorrow like always, but breaking apart from his hand to climb on the bus is almost like a physical pain.

He is searching his pocket for his bus pass, already reviewing the actions of the day to see if he can find out what made his senpai restless when they parted, when he hears a shout of “WAIT!”, and Bokuto-san climbs on behind him.

The bus takes off with the two of them on board, and Keiji looks at his captain, torn between irritation and pure bafflement.

“Bokuto-san — this is not your bus.”

“…I — I know that.”

“You're going to be late.”

“I'll text dad.”

Whatever impulse made Bokuto-san jump in behind him, it's not enough to make him start talking; he looks everywhere but at Keiji's face, holding himself with one hand and searching his bag with the other.

“Bokuto-san,” Keiji starts, frustrated because he hates not knowing what the other boy is thinking, but he stops when he sees the package in front of him.

It's soft, wrapped in blue paper with a crooked bow on top, and Bokuto-san is blushing fiercely as he waves it in front of the setter.

“I — I'm not sure if you'll like it,” he admits, still not looking at Keiji. “I wanted to give it to you this morning, but I thought — I'm not sure you'll like it. But it's — it's yours.”

The younger boy takes the package in his hands, holding himself standing with his feet as he unwraps it, wondering how he could have thought Bokuto-san wouldn't remember.

It's a scarf.

“I swear it's not just because you look pretty in scarves! I just know you like scarves!” Bokuto-san says. The fabric is plain, a light shade of green that Keiji is absolutely certain matches his eyes. “And winter is coming, and I thought — I'm not sure you'll like it — I thought it wouldn't hurt if you had another scarf. So you're warm.”

The setter holds it against his face with one hand. It's soft, with a nice laundry scent.

It's not just because he looks pretty in scarves.

“Bokuto-san.”

“A—Akaashi.”

“…Do you want to sleep over tonight? My mother and I are going to have birthday cake.”

Bokuto-san blinks; it's clearly not the answer he was expecting. “Ahhh… sure? I just have to call dad. Can I wash my hair with your shampoo?”

Keiji nods.

“Did you — did you like it?”

Keiji nods again.

* * *

Bokuto-san sings very loudly, but Keiji’s mother doesn't mind, judging by the amused look in her face. She managed to find seventeen candles somewhere during the day, and they're all lit over the strawberry shortcake, and they ask him to make a wish and, for a moment, Keiji doesn't want anything else.

(He wishes for the team to have the strength to win Nationals, just this once.)

They chat as they eat, which is to say Bokuto-san talks about his volleyball adventures, Keiji cuts in with sharp comments, and Keiji's mother laughs and laughs and laughs. Every now and then, she glances at him — and he knows he'll have things to explain in the morning, but he is so tired (the happy, sated kind of tired), that he cannot find it in himself to worry.

Keiji's mother is also tired, and retires for the night not long after, warning them not to stay up for too long. Before she goes, she pulls her son aside and whispers in his ears that Bokuto-san is a keeper, probably just to see Keiji go red.

He should be at least a little annoyed, but he doesn't quite have the heart to.

The boys stay in Keiji's room, watching a Disney movie in his laptop, Bokuto-san wearing the largest shirt they could find in the house. His friend is a talkative film watcher, half-shouting at the characters, but the setter finds his mind drifting as they watch. The idea of Bokuto-san in the futon at his side — the idea of waking up beside him always — is a solid presence in his chest, making his skin prickle as he eyes the white and black strands of loose hair under the light of the computer. It's not just because he looks pretty in scarves.

He thinks of all scenarios and possibilities, feeling himself suffocate with all the ways this could go wrong, but, as he notices Bokuto-san’s eyes struggling to stay open, he makes his decision.

“Bokuto-san.”

“Huh? What? I wasn’t asleep.”

“Bokuto-san, your eyes were closed.”

“I was just resting them! Oh, yeah, just for a second. I'm a great ace, Akaashi, I don't fall asleep before eleven p.m.”

“…Never mind that. Bokuto-san, I — I wanted to thank you.”

Bokuto-san scratches his head self-consciously. “For the scarf? It was nothing, Akaashi, no need to thank me. You’re my favorite kouhai after all.”

“You gave me many gifts today—”

“—You mean the gum? I just had it in my bag—”

“—but there's still something I want to ask of you.”

“Sure? If there's anything else I can do for you.”

“…It's a selfish thing. I'm asking for permission to do a selfish thing.”

The captain blinks. Then one of those grins — those who make everyone feel like Fukuroudani has already won the game — breaks into his face, illuminating the whole of Keiji's room. “Like you could do anything that mean. Fire away, Akaashi.”

“You don't know what I'm going to do.”

The grin grows wider. “I trust you. Fire away.”

Despite his confident words, he looks a little nervous as Keiji climbs down the bed sand gets closer to him. His cheeks are getting redder and redder.

It's impossible to predict accurately the results of this action.

Keiji still leans in and places a kiss on Bokuto-san’s lips.

He is steeling himself for rejection — preparing his argument to stall this disaster in the making — when Bokuto-san’s hand curls around his nape and pulls him closer, and their first real kiss is clumsy and sloppy and warms him all over like someone lit a fire under his skin.

They only stop crossing tongues when it becomes hard to breathe, and Bokuto-san’s mouth is swollen and shiny with spit. Bokuto-san himself looks like he’s got his birthday presents a year early, all flushed with happiness, and Keiji thinks he is truly, undoubtedly, gifted.

He goes to sleep holding hands with the person he loves, the ceiling dark and white with the colors of the night. His last yawn of the day is content like most of them will be from now on; he closes his eyes and wishes he could just stay awake a while longer.

 

 


End file.
